Dirty glasses were piled up. He was right. I was slammed. And I realized that even though he was a complete stranger, I felt I could trust him. Which should have been warning enough if I’d had enough time to think about it. Still reluctant, though, I said, “I don’t even know your name.” “Johnny.” I pushed the image of Jenna’s wagging finger to the back of my mind and followed my gut—and my ravenous libido—and stuck out my hand. “Ashling.” He took my hand with his and it was big and warm and callused. Be still, my pulsating pussy. Shit. I pulled my hand away and tried to look as stern and boss-like as possible. “You could start by collecting the glasses and putting them in the washer.” I showed him quickly how it worked and then he said, “It’s grand. I’ve got it—go on, get back to it.” For the next couple of hours I operated in a haze, totally bemused to find myself working around this six-foot-three gorgeous Irish man who was now also taking orders and serving drinks as if he’d been here for years.
What do You think about Her Last Wild Ride (2015)?
